Don't Give Up on Me
by Pale Treasures
Summary: Oliver is forced to finally deal with his feelings for Felicity post 2.23. Olicity. One shot.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Arrow. It belongs to their rightful owners. I'm just having fun (hopeful, hysterical, unealthy fun) with the characters.

**Rating: **K+

**Author's Note: **This may be seriously out of character. Please try to be open-minded.

* * *

**Don't Give Up On Me**

"_He took the wrong woman."_

_He watched realization slowly dawn on her, her eyes rounding almost imperceptibly, her lips parting in awe. "Oh," she breathed._

"_I love you." The words slid effortlessly from his tongue, light as rain, as though somehow already waiting to be said. He should have been surprised at this unforeseen ease; he wasn't. There was no part of him, not his heart, not somewhere darker, that registered any shock. He leaned closer to her, tendrils of her warmth seeping into him, and stared at her intently, almost with anguish; and a part of him was vaguely aware that he wasn't only trying to impart the meaning of his plan to her. "Do you understand?"_

* * *

What he could best remember about that moment was how easy it had been.

He hadn't expected it to be; he hadn't thought of how it would unravel, and what its consequences might be for him, when he'd first devised it. He had thought of nothing except of a way to get things done. And now that it was…

He remembered nothing except how easy it had been.

He should have felt alarmed; he should have felt the desire, if not the need, to immediately withdraw the words. He might have thought – were he still someone he hadn't been for a very long time – dissatisfaction at the idea that this might come back to haunt him and demand more from him than he was willing to give.

A part of him couldn't help but reluctantly marvel at how absent all these – otherwise instantaneous – emotions were. The unexpected had lost its ordinary definition, and was now something else. And, contrary to all his expectations, it did not frighten him. At least, not nearly as much as it used to.

Every single one of these small, unexpected changes led straight back to her.

He remembered her lovely, trusting face, with the half pleading, half hopeful eyes boring into his, and the warmth and the urgency that had seared through him. The desire to stay, to say more to her, that had punctured through his greater resolve to settle his affair with Slade once and for all. He could not forget her face. Her eyes piercing through his with that remarkable lack of guardedness, that purity he did not find anywhere else, on anyone else. He had never wanted to stay with her so badly. The words that had gone rusty for lack of saying, or that perhaps he had never uttered at all, had sprung up almost painfully inside him. Their truth startled him now; how close he had been to saying more, how deeply he had wished he could, how everything would have changed irrevocably if he had.

He couldn't say them.

The memory of that day's events, of the intimacy shared with Felicity, had treaded across his sleep and suffused his dreams, to the point he was not certain he had ever slept. Once he was up, however, instead of perturbation, of a desire to forget lest tragedy to both himself and others could stem from his untimely feelings, he felt only a tranquil, determined drive for clarity. He struggled with introspection, for it often brought more pain than enlightenment; this time, he knew, before he had even embarked on it, that it would help him. The time for escape was past him, and he no longer wished for that anyway.

After something like that, after coming so close to bleeding himself dry for her to see, it was impossible not to know that something had to change.

He couldn't go back to what he was, to what he had been, around her. It was a struggle to remember how to be that man again. But he couldn't let her know how much he had meant the words he'd said to her; he could not so much as imagine reassuring her if she still had doubts about that. That was the trouble that enveloped them still; the old pull toward the darkness he had wallowed in for so long. To defy that darkness meant deeper dangers, perhaps dangers he would not be so lucky to evade in the future. He could not afford any of that to happen to Felicity. Now he knew just how much it would damage him. Now he recognized, not just fearfully, in passing, how much he needed her. He stared that need squarely in the face, undaunted for once. It was a need more profound than any he had ever ascribed to the word; almost as necessary as the air he breathed.

He couldn't let anything happen to her. She risked too much already, working with him, and he allowed that to continue. He couldn't risk anything else.

The irony did not fail to strike him; finally realizing what he had avoided thinking about for so long, what he'd wanted to believe was less powerful than it actually was, only to never be able to let her know that. His heart twisted painfully in his chest and he sighed, looking around the spacious, atypically empty hideout, all glittering, aseptic metal and glass, with not a trace of human warmth to it. It appeared that only something as monumental as finally taking Slade down warranted a brief vacation. But he'd been unable to leave.

Strangely, though, all of this was also a relief. It was a relief to realize this finally, to know that he could never be indifferent to her, that the changes in his behavior, his occasional frustration toward her, the helplessness he so often felt, had all a reason for being. With this awareness, he could figure out how best to act; how to seize the fact that she was so deeply involved in his affairs to make sure he would keep taking care of her. A flutter of unfamiliar buoyancy stole across him. He could do nothing else regarding her, but _this_ he could do, and with renewed purpose, giving himself absolutely no room for failure. The resolution alone was enough to let him know he would _not_ fail.

Knowing his feelings, seeing the new man bursting through the rubble of the person he had been, made him see Felicity differently as well. There were parts of her he did not think he needed to know any better; parts of her that were already as familiar and lovingly predictable as his own heartbeat. But there was a large expanse of her that remained enclosed in shadow, a larger part of her than he had known or believed to exist in the past; whose very existence he had struggled, and at times even refused, to acknowledge. Gently, she appeared before him a changed woman, made of deeper color and deeper substance than before, desirable in entirely new and somewhat frightening ways.

Gone were the days when he could stop thinking about her easily. She refused to leave his mind, and he replayed that moment over and over until he had her expression memorized, until eventually whatever doubt there might still remain of his own feelings completely dissolved. At a certain point, the mental recollection no longer needed any filling in; he remembered every detail clearly, with an aching, breathless affection, a desperate tenderness that still failed to match up to the true, almost immeasurable depth of it that he stored inside for her.

What followed, he was well aware, was dangerous, and it made him falter; he entertained once more the ever-present idea of shutting her out completely, of hardening his heart, of even doing something hurtful and foolish in order to make certain she would stay away. But it was too late; weakness had already settled in. He couldn't stop thinking about her, and, even though he intended to stay silent on the subject, indefinitely if need be, he still wanted to see her. From afar, if he had to; that would be enough for him.

Starling was slowly recovering from the recent mayhem; he seriously contemplated leaving the lair and venturing outside. After a few undecided minutes, he swung his leather jacket over his shoulder and grabbed his bike keys.

He had never given much thought to the idea of Felicity's life outside work, or lingered on where she lived. It had been natural at first, then something he had imposed on himself. He couldn't help a slight feeling of excitement as he zoomed expertly past a number of streets toward her house.

Her blinds were open, and light glittered off the windows and filled the room he had a view into, preventing him from making anything out clearly. He hesitated at her door, without killing the ignition, waiting he was not sure what for. But this was a decision that clearly rested on him alone.

Amidst the dazzling light that blinded him to what was going on within, he saw a vague, familiar contour, a hint of shadow topped by tousled blonde hair. His heart tightened in his chest; it still surprised him, after everything, how perfectly hunger and despondency could mesh together.

That made up his mind. He swung off the bike, removed his helmet and somewhat hesitantly strode up her front lawn toward the door. He rang the bell once.

He did not have to wait long; she opened the door and stood staring up at him, while he stared back at her with the hint of a composed smile.

"Oliver!" Her eyes widened and she all but jumped back in surprise.

"Hi." He remained staring down at her, smile widening a fraction.

She peeked outside, glancing all around him uneasily, as though expecting to find a pack of thugs waiting not so discreetly around the corner. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine." He was unable to fully restrain his amusement.

She tilted her glasses upward and looked at him, her lips beginning to curl hopefully at the edges. "Well, this is definitely a surprise. Do you want to… come in?"

"Sure." He followed her lead, crossing the doorstep and instantly taking in the surroundings. He wondered if there was a roommate, and was relieved to find none.

He felt Felicity watching him, noticing his interest, and turned to find her staring at him with quizzical expectation. He smiled, and she shyly smiled back.

"So…"

"I won't stay long." He took a step toward her, unable to keep his smile from becoming wistful.

"Oh, no, no, no, I didn't mean to imply that you're unwelcome. You're totally _not_ unwelcome. Actually, I'm really glad that you're here. It's just… weird to have you in my house. Not that I didn't imagine it before, but, ah—" She began to blush and paused. "I'm just wondering why you came."

"I just wanted to check up on you," he explained, trying to keep his tone light, "make sure you're okay, after everything that happened."

"I'm fine. A little sore, but okay." Her eyes widened in panic. "I mean, not _that_ kind of sore. Sore from being tossed around in an overturned van and sustaining injuries from said tossing, _sore. _Not… the other… variety," she trailed off, pink-cheeked.

He watched her tenderly, head cocked slightly sideways, barely focusing on her awkward babble. He was so used to it by now that he had ceased to be taken aback or uncomfortable by it. He did not think he would care for her half as much if she was any different.

"I'm glad to hear it," he told her with a smile.

Her eyes softened as she looked up at him. She searched his face with gentle concern. "You?"

He did not know how to answer that at first. There was so much that had taken place in those brief days since Slade's capture, since the charade which wasn't really one. He wondered if somehow Felicity could guess how truthful he'd been now that they stood before one another again, even if avoiding the subject. Had she sensed something, anything, which kept her from doubting any longer? Did she _know_?

He wasn't sure whether that would be a relief or a tremendous complication. All he wanted was to make sure she never had to doubt him. But, to keep her safe, he would have to make her doubt him countless times yet. He did not relish the prospect. Having her here, near him, tender-hearted and trusting and clumsy, all of the qualities that made Felicity exactly the one of a kind being she was, made him realize more deeply than he'd ever had yet how important she was. He did not want to hurt her. He did not want her innocence to be tarnished, either by him or by anything concerning him. Felicity was the last person he could imagine being any different than what she was. The thought that darkness could reach her too, and inflict lasting damage, was unbearable.

He was willing to do a great deal, a _very_ great deal, to ensure that would never happen.

As he emerged from his absent-mindedness, he caught her staring at him inquiringly, waiting for an answer.

"I'm—better," he said at last. "I'm doing better now."

She smiled, the warmth in her eyes intensifying. "I'm glad."

"How have these past few days been treating you? I hope you're enjoying the long overdue time off," he told her playfully.

She smiled, straightening her glasses. "Actually, I'm not used to time off anymore. It's a little difficult to figure out just what to do with myself. I never thought I'd say this, but turns out that ordinary, civilian life is pretty boring."

A hint of hardened sadness slipped into his smile. "You might regret saying those words someday."

"Doubtful," she whispered, staring him straight in the eyes.

He knew what that meant. Her feelings had always been transparent. He tried to make himself take a step back, push a curt goodbye on her and take off immediately. Instead, he found himself closing the distance between them, until they were close enough to touch.

"You should rest up," he told her, "seize what's left of this downtime. Watch a movie." He found himself fighting a genuine smile. He could only wonder what kind of movies Felicity enjoyed.

"I have, actually. Last night. _Weird Science. _I really like young, skinny Anthony Michael Hall. He was so cute and…" She briefly gestured as though squeezing someone's cheeks, "…blond."

"Anthony Michael Hall. Okay." He struggled not to laugh. "Now that I think about it, it doesn't surprise me."

"I hope that's not mockery I'm detecting," she told him, lowering her glasses in warning.

He grinned. "Nope. Wouldn't dream of it." His eyes softened at the corners as he took her in, his smile dimmed. "I have to go now."

"Already?" she whispered. "You don't have to go yet. Is it because I was such a lousy hostess?"

"No, nothing like that. You couldn't be lousy at anything if you tried." He smiled affectionately down at her.

She chuckled nervously. "You'd be surprised." Her eyes met his again almost right away with a beseeching note.

"So, what's it going to be tonight?" he asked, attempting to maintain things light-hearted but aware that it was failing pretty miserably on both ends, "_The Breakfast Club_?"

"_Are you_ making fun of me?"

"Definitely not." He grinned at her, but was unable to keep doing it any longer. Slowly, gently, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

She nodded mutely, pleading eyes still fixed on his. "You too," she whispered.

She was far too close for comfort, and he knew this would be the appropriate moment to finally pull away, but he couldn't. Or, what was perhaps more accurate, he didn't _want_ to. His eyes darted to her lips and back to her eyes, and he felt, rather than saw, Felicity inch closer to him. This had happened before; he had always noticed that she hoped to be kissed in moment like these and more than once he'd wanted to indulge her. Well, not just her, if he was going to keep being honest with himself. Denying them both what they wanted had never been more painful to him.

Still, he did not pull away. He cradled the back of her skull in his palm and softly pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her forehead. He felt her arms go around him, pressing him closer still, and felt nothing but hunger for more. He breathed in the smell of her hair and briefly closed his eyes, fighting himself, fighting her, until at last he disengaged himself from her.

Felicity blinked, the subtle adoration he had seen in her eyes a moment ago dulled in sorrow.

"I'll see you soon," he whispered, making the effort to smile again. It was not difficult when she was involved.

"Okay," she said in a small voice.

He could not help imagining what things would be like for him if he wasn't the Arrow, if he never got his wealth back. He could live with her, in an unassuming little house just like this one. He could wake up with her in his arms and the sunlight in his face. Warmth. A future. Joy. How could one long for things that were so foreign? How could he know this was exactly what he'd have if he ever had the chance to stay with Felicity? It was disturbing how clearly he imagined everything, how true he knew everything to be.

_Maybe someday. _It was a vain hope, and every bone in his body knew that. It would not happen anytime soon, maybe not ever. He cared for her too deeply to be able to choose her. The most he could do to show her how much she meant to him was to keep her at arm's length. She would misunderstand him, perhaps even resent him. She might find someone else. The thought was excruciating, but he knew he would let her go, that he'd _have_ to let her go, if it came to that. If he loved her as he thought, wasn't that what he was meant to do for her? Give her a chance at safety, at normal? Maybe it would even be easy to do, when the time came.

_Maybe someday._

He fought the urge to look back at her as he left the house, even though he keenly felt her gaze poking holes through him. He climbed onto his bike and in a heartbeat, he was gone. His gallant resolution suddenly weighed heavy with him. The fact that he had openly admitted, if only to himself, that Felicity was more than what she used to be was as painful as it was galling. But a part of his strength of will was gone forever, because he could not take that back now even if he wanted to.

The future had never seemed more cryptic to him. But right now, this had to be enough. Seeing her, being near her, protecting her, had to be enough. He could only hope he was fortunate enough to seek her out someday and not have to leave, not have to leave them wanting more. Maybe one day he would actually get good at hoping, and maybe that would make a difference.

* * *

**I haven't felt this strongly for a fictional couple in years (except for Tyrion and Sansa on GoT), and I was a happy mess while watching the season 2 finale. It surprised me. Oliver/Felicity HAVE to be canon. I love them, but often doubted how far they would go and didn't really have much hope that Oliver really did love her, and was starting to detach myself from the idea of them as a couple. But the finale! NO WAY he wasn't honest. There's just no way. I realize he still has a lot of issues to work through and they won't be together anytime soon, but now I have no doubt that he loves her. And as such, I wanted to keep my story on hopeful, not realistic, grounds (although hopefully it was at least a little realistic). I commend and admire the authors who go the slow-burning, realistic, frustrating route; that takes more willpower than I have. I just wanted him to admit SOMETHING, and since I'm fully convinced of his honesty when he said he loved her, I went from there. It may be still OOC for him at this point, but I'm going with it, and I hope everyone who's reading will be too (or at least willing to suspend disbelief). It strikes me that Oliver's reactions to and relationship with Felicity have been the most honest and spontaneous of all the romantic relationships/entanglements he's ever been in. The way he met her, and how he instantly smiled, how he interacts with her (and she with him), how he seems to be effortlessly tender and warm to her (though not as often as I want him to), really have me convinced she's the one for him. And that they need to end up together down the line.**

**You're still reading this? Bless you. Before I go; PLEASE leave a review. I'm officially begging you guys down on my knees. I'll bake you cookies. Just, please, if you liked the story, if it made you squeal, if it left you with ANY good feelings after reading, please let me know. I really cannot stress how important your support and feedback is to me, and it inspires me to write more every day.**


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